


a love like wildness (a hurt like kindness)

by radicaleye



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23069599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radicaleye/pseuds/radicaleye
Summary: They're definitely broken up.So that doesn't explain why Andrew's hand is under her scrub top, cupping her breast.
Relationships: MerLuca, Meredith Grey/Andrew DeLuca
Comments: 15
Kudos: 97





	a love like wildness (a hurt like kindness)

**Author's Note:**

> It's truly mortifying to post this, but here we go. I figured this ship deserved an on-call room scene, given that the show doesn't seem to want to write one.
> 
> Feedback is welcome and appreciated, if only to placate my shame.

They're definitely broken up. 

So that doesn't explain why Andrew's hand is under her scrub top, cupping her breast.

Breaking up had been his decision all those weeks ago. But kissing her now had been his decision too, she thinks, although she can't say for sure who had made the first move. 

He's probably - no, _definitely_ , still manic, if this behaviour right now is anything to go by. And she should be the stronger person, the person who puts a stop to this before it escalates to a place that they can't come back from. But her body misses him, _she_ misses him, and just for once she doesn't want to be the responsible one. 

His mouth drags across the pulse point on her neck and a sigh escapes her lips that she'll be ashamed of later. Her back is hard against the on-call room door, and he's pressed against her front. She can already _feel_ how much he wants this, and she'd be lying if she said that it wasn't working for her. She angles her hips just slightly, a little more pressure, and a low grunt escapes him, and his lips find hers again. The click of the lock on the door echoes through the room. Intentions are made clear.

_This is ridiculous_ , she thinks, even as her own hand finds the smooth plains of his stomach, warm and firm to the touch. His muscles ripple in response to her fingertips, and he withdraws from her barely in order to tug his scrub top off and over his head. He discards it somewhere behind him, in the half darkness of the room. A wicked grin pulls at the corner of his mouth, because he knows what the sight of him like this does to her. She's made that clear so many times that she's lost count. Any chance that she's going to stop this has just flown out the window.

He's looking at her like he's asking a question, head tilting in that way he has. He feels like the old Andrew, the one who would never yell at her in front of half the hospital, the one who would never be cruel and unkind. He's still there, she knows, deep down, locked away. She'd fought to find him again, until it had just become too painful. But this? This feels unpainful, in a way. It feels like a bridge to something better than where they've been.

She answers wordlessly, pulling her own top over her head, leaving it in a pool at their feet. Her bra then joins it, her nipples hardening in the cool air. Meredith likes the way his eyes darken, likes the way that she has that effect on him still. She pulls him back to her without even thinking twice.

There's a desperation to the way he kisses her now, like there is some kind of well inside him that he needs to fill. She knows the feeling. They're skin against skin and yet if she could crawl inside him somehow she would, and there is something terrifying but also comforting about that. 

She's already wet, already aching for him to be inside her, because that's the inevitable outcome now. Her breasts are crushed hard against him, nipples sensitive against the movements he's making. His large palm finds her, fingertips flicking her peak, and she feels him smile against her when she whimpers. This is the sort of thing she's imagined in the depths of the night recently, alone in her bed. She'd touched herself with him in her mind's eye, stroking her way to completion knowing it was a substitute that was never going to quite satisfy her. 

His hands seem to be everywhere, mapping every part of her exposed skin. Her back, her neck, her shoulders, the flat of her stomach, the ticklish curves of her sides. He feels untethered somehow, like he can't quite focus on one thing at once - seems to want every part of her simultaneously. Her own hands trace what she can reach, the gentle ripple of his abdominal muscles, the swell of his upper arms. They bear lower, brushing against the core of him through fabric, and he jars against her, the sensation too much and yet not enough. He pulls back and he gives her a look that she can't read. But before she can question it, he drops quickly to his knees on the floor in front of her, tugging her scrub pants and underwear down as he goes. He gazes up at her, intention obvious.

"Jesus, _Andrew_ ," she sighs, and they're probably the first words that either them have uttered since they got here. Her head tips back, resting solidly against the door, anticipating what comes next. 

He doesn't answer, his lips busy trailing up her inner thighs, one side and then the other. He pauses for a second, and she can't help but glance down again. He calmly gazes back at her, as if in challenge, before the flat of his tongue presses to where she wants it most. 

Her knees almost buckle. It's only his firm grip on her that keeps her upright. She hasn't forgotten how good he is at this. How dedicated and patient and intuitive he is to what she needs. 

She tries to stay quiet, but she can't. Tiny whimpers lead to low moans as he tastes her, tongue stroking against her wetness, against the particular spot that makes her thighs tremble. His thumb joins, massaging tiny circles against her clit, while he sucks and laps at her. Her hand buries itself in his hair, first gripping and then pulling with the tension that's filling her frame. He doesn't complain, only presses one of her hips back harder against the door, changing his angle. As she looks down, she can see the concentration on his face, sees the way his sharp eyes flick up to gauge her response to each new motion. The sight of him between her legs almost ruins her.

Her hips undulate against his mouth, small motions that surge her forward. This was not how she expected today would go. Her cries are becoming more guttural now, the closer she gets. He tentatively teases a finger against her entrance, before sliding it into her cunt, curling against her walls in a persistent rhythm that is becoming unbearable with each passing second.

She wants to come, and yet she doesn't want this feeling to stop. Not just the liquid heat building inside of her, but the feeling of being close to him again, of being in synchronisation once more. Because of that, she fights against the wave that's coming - but of course, he can tell. That's when a second finger joins the first, and his tongue flicks against her with such unrelenting determination that she has no choice but to let herself fall.

Her cries echo out in the empty room, and although they've done this plenty of times before - well, maybe not _this_ exactly - she feels embarrassed at how easily he's undone her. She wants to do the same for him.

He gets up off his knees, and it's been a long time since she's seen such a broad smile on his face. He kisses her with an open mouth, and she knows she's tasting herself, tasting how much she wants him still. He's still half dressed, but she can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against her stomach, and it's all she can think about.

Her scrub pants and underwear are still around her ankles and so she kicks free of them. She's now completely naked and although it's definitely not the first time she's been naked in an on-call room with Andrew DeLuca, it's been long enough that it feels new and exciting once more.

She seizes her turn now. One hand splayed against his chest, she pushes him back. He looks concerned at the motion until he realises that she's propelling him towards the bed. His legs hit the frame and she presses him down and then further backwards still until he's lying prone on his back, looking up at her with fresh hunger. 

Silently, she tugs down his scrub pants, his underwear, until they too are a pile of material on the floor next to the bed. She sets herself astride his lap, her still wet heat intentionally not quite where she knows he needs her most. He tries to sit up but she doesn't let him, pushes him back down with purpose. He's so gloriously hard nestled between her thighs, so eager for her attention that she almost wants to deny him. But that would only deny herself ultimately, and she has no interest in that. With one quick motion, she shuffles back towards the foot of the bed, bows her head, and takes him in her mouth.

His reaction is visceral, hips arching off the mattress, a choked cry issuing from his mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, Meredith can see his fists close tightly around the bed linen, gripping until his knuckles turn white. He's so responsive and appreciative, although that's nothing new with him. But he's been so cold with her lately that getting this reaction from him feels like something familiar. She indulges it, takes him deep, lets her tongue trace the underside of his cock again and again until she can hear nothing but unintelligible noises.

She's good at this, she knows. She also knows exactly what he likes, exactly where to place her hands, her mouth. She lets him hit the back of her throat before pulling back again and again, until there's only wildness left in his eyes. The yearning ache inside of her is unbearable.

" _Please_ ," he begs finally, after her tongue circles his tip and he clearly can't take it anymore. She has no intention of letting him come right now anyway, and he knows it. They've played this game before. 

With that, she stops and takes her time to crawl up his body, hands tracing muscle and sinew as she goes. Her hips rest above his once more, but they don't go any further just yet, even though it's clear that it's what they both want. His hands thread into her hair as she leans over to kiss him, breaths mingling hotly, and he's practically trembling with how much he wants her. It's the best compliment she could have.

After a long moment, she raises her hips and positions herself. She wants to take it slow but her body is impatient, primally eager to just _fuck_ him. When she does lower herself down, he slides into her with ease - stretching her gently, the sensation of being filled perfectly overtaking her. He looks at her with a kind of reverence, hands sliding up her thighs, then to her hips, encouraging her to move. 

Meredith tries to attempt some self control. So she rocks gently at first, small motions that grind her clit against him at the same time as she adjusts to his size. She's still so sensitive, she knows it won't take much for her - and the same goes for him, no doubt - but she doesn't want this to be over yet. She's not ready for the conversation that will have to follow, because one _will_ have to - of that she's sure.

It doesn't take long for soft cries to emerge from her mouth. His movements against her are exactly what she needs. She doesn't touch him as she perches there, riding his cock, just tips her head back and moves with uninhibited abandon. She knows he's watching her, and it only turns her on more. To press the point home, she traces her hands down her neck, moving to cup her own breasts, fingers circling her nipples. The sensation goes straight to her cunt, and she pumps her hips harder against him, lets out a lascivious moan. 

He's instantly on her, pushing himself up and into a sitting position. Meredith feels herself being pulled tighter into his lap, drawing him even deeper inside her. She groans again as his mouth connects with her neck, tongue tracing patterns she doesn't understand. He rocks her more frantically against him, and she can feel his sighs as she responds, breath hot against her skin. In a moment of deep seated urgency she grinds down hard on him, just once, and she thinks he stops breathing all together. 

The feeling of his cock inside of her is torment itself. She wants more and more, wants to feel him sinking even further into her heat, wants the feeling of being possessed by him. He mutters something against her, but Meredith can't make it out. But his actions that follow are clear. He leans down and takes a nipple in his mouth, gently at first, and then a little harder, and a wild moan escapes her that she doesn't anticipate. 

She can feel the scruff of his face against the sensitive skin of her breast, and there's something about the roughness of that, coupled with the smooth warmth of his mouth plucking away at her, that starts to undo her. He quickly moves to her other nipple, tongue flicking against her tip, the other hand circling the one he's just left. She needs more, and now.

Any semblance of control on her part is quickly crumbling. She needs release again, and fast. She moves more forcefully against him now, bouncing up and down on his cock, his hardness sliding in and out of her in an intensely satisfying rhythm. She can tell he's close too by the way that he's breathing, the way he's trying to hold on for her. One of his hands now slides up between her shoulder blades, the other to her clit again. He massages her in ever decreasing circles, coiling tighter and tighter.

"Come for me, Mere," he says breathlessly, his mouth pressed against her temple. He's reacting so perfectly to her every movement, his cock so deep inside her that it is hitting the right spot every time. The pace and rhythm he's setting is intoxicating, but it's exactly what she wants. Her cunt is so slick and he's pumping into her so relentlessly that she's seeing stars. She's so close, so close, and yet she doesn't want this to end, needs more of this, more and more and more.

But she can't help but chase the release too, and so when it's there within touching distance, she grabs for it, and it's like a tidal wave, crashing against her. She arches fiercely against his body, pulsing through her orgasm in a quivering mess. Seconds later, she feels his thrusts become erratic before he falls apart too, gasping and grasping for her in equal measure.

He holds her firmly to him in the come down, both trying to catch their breaths. Her skin is slick, limbs heavy, and she lets her forehead drop against his shoulder. They stay like that for long minutes, chests heaving, until he gently lifts her, rotating them both until her back hits the mattress. He slides out of her, and it feels like loss already. He sits on the edge of the bed and doesn't look at her.

There are so many things she wants to say and yet none of them feel like the right thing for this moment. She's not a fool to think that this fixes everything, but Meredith knows that these sorts of things don't happen in a vacuum. She reaches out and places a hand on his naked back, and he jumps as if he's been burned.

"I-", he starts, before leaping to his feet, and scrambling for his clothes. He doesn't look at her, but she feels exposed nevertheless, lying there on top of the bed with nothing to cover her. She doesn't suppose it should matter given what's just happened, but Meredith doesn't like how he's reacting. She slides between the sheets and sits up, staring at him.

"Andrew," she says firmly, feeling more in control now than she had a few moments ago. He's already dressed by this point, just tugging on his remaining shoe, and he pauses at the sound of her voice. "Andrew, what's going on?" It's not the question she intended, but it's a start.

"I-" he begins again, finally meeting her eyes. She sees the guilt there, hears the pain in his voice. "I... still love you, Mere. But this... this doesn't change anything."

He's gone before she can react, door swiftly unlocked and then pulled shut behind him with a determined slam. Nothing remains that even shows his presence anymore, except perhaps the deep imprints his hands left on her skin. Even now they are probably fading to nothing. 

She's shocked that this would be how he leaves her, after what had just happened. Her heart feels like it has been scooped out of her body, but she refuses to cry, even though she could argue it has been earned. It would be self-righteous of her to feel used, because in all honesty, she doesn't. And Meredith can't hide the truth from herself - today she knowingly chose to turn a blind eye to the fact that his judgement is impaired. She'd wanted this to happen just as much as he had.

Meredith doesn't want to be one of those women who clings to hope when there is none. She's too realistic, too pragmatic for that. But she knows now that despite everything he still loves her, just as she knows that she loves him. It's an important detail in the scheme of things, regardless of how he's just left things between them. It tells her that the battle they're waging isn't against each other, so much as it is against his imbalanced brain chemistry and his inability to see his illness for what it is. They just need to get on the same side, them against the problem, rather than them against each other. 

The issue is that she doesn't know how to help now any more than she did several weeks ago. He's been resistant to all her attempts, and it had only made things worse between them. With a sigh, she lowers herself back down onto the scratchy on-call room pillow, and stares blankly at the ceiling. Her heart is still racing, and so she takes slow and steady breaths to try and calm herself. She wishes she knew what to do.

Just when she decides she needs to find Carina and talk to her again, the door flies open. Meredith half shrieks, tugging the sheets up further around her neck, anticipating an unwelcome intern, or god forbid, _Bailey_. She's surprised when she sees it's Andrew again, and he looks as bewildered as she feels. He quickly shuts the door behind him, and she doesn't fail to notice that he clicks the lock again.

A rage rises up in her, ready to berate him for the way he'd walked out before, until she sees the look on his face. He looks lost and unmoored, and he's looking at her like she's a safe harbour. The harsh words die in her mouth, as she watches him toe off his shoes. 

"You're back," she says instead, tonelessly, as carefully neutral as she's able to be.

"I'm back," he echoes with a listlessness that jars her, as he lowers himself down onto the bed. She scoots over to make room, and he tucks his frame in under the blanket next to her, still in his scrubs, turning so that he's on his side facing her. She twists so that she mirrors him, takes stock of the way that he stares at her across the pillow. There are dark circles under his eyes, and her heart compresses.

"I'm sorry," he says after a moment, the apology as soft and as sad as the expression in his eyes. A hand finds her hip and rests there gently. It's chaste in comparison to everything else. Carefully he moves closer and presses his forehead into the space in the hollow of her throat, her chin tucked against the top of his head. Her arms instinctively thread around him, and as she does, she can feel the small tremors that vibrate through his frame, the shaky exhales against the curve of her neck.

"I'm sorry," he repeats again more forcefully this time. "I just... I don't know what to do anymore." She doesn't need to guess what he's referring to.

She smooths down his hair with one hand, letting the curls weave between her fingers. They coil and twist and spring back under the motion, unable to be tamed, unable to be crushed down by the weight of her palm. "I don't know either," she admits, even though they both know that's a lie. He needs help, but he's still not quite ready to hear that yet, she senses. They need to take baby steps, and his admission right now is stride enough for one day. "But I'm here, I promise. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

She feels his sigh rather than hears it. "Okay," he breathes against her, and she can feel his lips pressing to her skin like a prayer, like a promise. "Okay, that's good."

"Yeah," she echoes quietly. "That's good."


End file.
